The Haunting of a Duke(13)

Across the room, two young women were whispering behind their hands and looking at her. It was not an uncommon occurrence. The real question was not whether or not they were whispering about her, but whether they were discussing the rumors of her ability to speak with spirits, her scandalous relatives, her lack of fortune, or the fact that she had worn the same gown last season. Their choices were many.

The gentlemen trickled in from the library or the billiard room or wherever they had been congregating. Almost against her will, Emme's eyes gravitated toward Rhys. Lord Ellersleigh stood beside him, still looking ill at ease.

Rhys stood taller than most of the other gentleman and his broad shoulders dwarfed the other men in the room. His dark hair, the pale gold eyes, everything about him set him apart. Her awareness of him, the visceral reaction she had to his very presence was alarming. He was simply more, in every way, and everything in her responded to that.

As she looked at him her breath caught and her pulse skittered. She didn't understand why, however. It was beyond her comprehension. In the traditional sense of the word, Lord Ellersleigh was undoubtedly the more handsome of the two, certainly the more dashing. But he did not captivate her attention the way the Duke of Briarleigh did, or set her traitorous pulse racing.

"He is magnificent, isn't he?"

Emme turned to look at the young woman who had joined her on the settee. She was a pale blonde beauty with large cornflower eyes. Her gown was a pale peach silk that made her skin glow like cream. She combed through her memory until she could recall the young woman's name. Miss Penelope Stone.

"Miss Stone, I'm not sure I understand what you're alluding to."

Miss Stone's laugh was brittle, the accompanying smile not reaching her eyes. “I'm referring to our host, my dear Miss Walters! He's positively delicious, and just a bit wicked, though not nearly as wicked as Ellersleigh. Of course few gentlemen are."

Such confidences were dangerous, and Emme chose to respond tactfully. “He is very handsome, but as to his wickedness, I really couldn't say."

The cool smile became positively frigid. Miss Stone's small, pearly teeth took on a predatory appearance. “Of course you couldn't. Such circumspect behavior is admirable."

She leaned closer, dropping her voice to a sotto whisper, as if they were the best of friends. “Tell me Miss Walters, have you spoken with his late wife?"

Emme knew what she was asking, but chose to be obtuse, hoping that the subject would be dropped. “I was not acquainted with the family prior to her passing, but I have heard that she was very beautiful. It is a tragic loss."

"You have no need to be coy with me Miss Walters. Have you spoken with her since your arrival here?"

Emme met the other woman's gaze, noting the coldness and the calculating nature so evident there. Her pretty face hid a viperous nature. “That would be impossible, Miss Stone."

"For some of us, yes it is—but not for you. That is what you do, isn't it, Miss Walters? You talk to spirits and see beyond the veil, no?"

Miss Stone's theatrical tone attracted far too much attention for Emme's peace of mind.

"No,” Emme replied, tightly. “I am afraid you have been misled. While I have been of assistance to several people in difficult situations with loved ones who had passed, Miss Stone, it is a matter of being observant and using deductive reasoning. There is nothing mystical about it."

Penelope laughed, but the sound was hollow, false. Her eyes were sharp and her smile was so hard it could have cut glass. “What a dull answer you've given. Deductive reasoning! Ghosts are surely more interesting."

Emme was saved from further reply by the announcement of dinner. She stood, as did Miss Stone, and a young man stepped forward to lead Miss Stone into the dining room. Emme's own escort arrived and nothing could have branded her as ineligible more patently. They had been introduced the day before, but his name escaped her.

He was not an old man by any stretch of the imagination, but a dissipated life had left its mark. He was portly with an alarmingly red face and bulbous nose accompanied by an unfortunately balding pate. He offered his arm to escort Emme into the dining room. With a leering smile, he kept his gaze glued to her cleavage as he led her to her chair. He took his seat beside her, never averting his lecherous gaze.

The conversation strayed to town gossip and Emme let her attention drift. Miss Stone was watching her and that knowledge left her uncomfortable. Miss Stone was spiteful and not to be trifled with. Emme had the distinct impression that the young woman was definitely dangerous. Thoughts of danger prompted thoughts of her host, and she found her gaze drifting toward the head of the table and toward Rhys again. He raised his glass in a silent salute, and she flushed nervously.